The Man and the Moment eBook

Then their conversation turned to this absorbing topic,
the perfections of Girolamo! and as it is hardly one
which could interest you or me, my friend, let us
go back to the smoking-room and listen to a conversation
going on between Cranley Beaton and Lord Fordyce.
The latter, with great skill, had begun to elicit
certain information he desired from this society register!

“Yes, indeed,” Mr. Beaton was saying.
“She is a peach—­The husband”—­and
he looked extremely wise. “Oh! she made
some frightful mesalliance out West, and they say
he’s shut in a madhouse or home for inebriates.
Her entrance among us dates from when she first appeared
in Paris, about three years ago, with Princess Torniloni.
She is awfully rich and awfully good, and it is a
real pity she does not divorce the ruffian and begin
again!”

“She is not free, then?” and Lord Fordyce
felt his heart sink. “I thought, probably,
she had got rid of any encumbrance, as it is fairly
easy over with you.”

“Why, she could in a moment if she wanted to,
I expect,” Mr. Beaton assured his listener.
“She hasn’t fancied anyone else yet; when
she does, she will, no doubt.”

“Her husband is an American, then?”

“Why, of course—­didn’t I tell
you she came from the West? Why, I remember crossing
with her. She was in deep mourning—­in
the summer of 1908. She never spoke to anyone
on board, and it was about eighteen months after that
I was presented to her in Paris. She gets prettier
every day.”

Lord Fordyce felt this was true.

“So she could be free if she fancied anyone,
you think?” he hazarded casually, as though
his interest in the subject had waned—­and
when Mr. Beaton had answered, “Yes—­rather,”
Lord Fordyce got up and sauntered off toward bed.

“One has to be up so early in the morning, here,”
he remarked agreeably. “See you to-morrow
at the Schlossbrunn?—­Good-night!”

CHAPTER VII

After this, for several days Mrs. Howard made it rather
difficult for Lord Fordyce to speak to her alone,
although he saw her every day, and at every meal,
and each hour grew more enamored. She, for her
part, was certainly growing to like him. He soothed
her; his intelligence was highly trained, and he was
courteous and gentle and sympathetic—­but
for some reason which she could not explain, she had
no wish to precipitate matters. Her mind was
quite without any definite desire or determination,
but, being a woman, she was perfectly aware that Henry
was falling in love with her. A number of other
men had done so before, and had then at once begun
to be uninteresting in her eyes. It was as if
she were numb to the attraction of men—­but
this one had qualities which appealed to her.
Her own countrymen were never cultivated enough in
literature, and were too absorbed in stocks and shares
to be able to take flights of sentiment and imagination
with her. Lord Fordyce understood in a second—­and
they could discuss any subject with a refined subtlety
which enchanted her.